


All Tied Up

by PenguinofProse



Series: Smutty Saturdays [16]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Festive smut with feelings, Smut, beginners' bondage, brief mention of choking, festive smut with festive feelings, smut with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:20:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28029183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Bellamy receives a most unconventional Christmas present.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Smutty Saturdays [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930432
Comments: 20
Kudos: 154
Collections: Bellarke smut





	All Tied Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [QueenoftheWallflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenoftheWallflowers/gifts).



> Happy Smutty Saturday! This is set once again in some post-S1 AU where everyone's living happily at the dropship camp. Huge thanks to Pris for the prompt and to Stormkpr for betaing. Happy reading!

Bellamy wonders whether Jobi nuts are to blame, at first.

How else is he supposed to react, when he walks into his tent at the end of a long Christmas day entertaining the kids, to find Clarke asleep there in his bed? Naturally he presumes it's a hallucination, or a waking dream, or a particularly vivid fantasy.

Then he notices what she's wearing, and he begins to wonder whether there's more going on than that. She appears to have a red ribbon tied in a bow round her hair, and despite the blankets he can pick out what looks like the strap of a delicate red nightdress running over one shoulder.

If this is a Jobi nut hallucination, it is certainly a very detailed one.

He shakes his head, hoping to clear it. Did Jasper put something unusual in the punch? Or is this some kind of odd prank or joke he has not understood?

He approaches Clarke slowly, wonders what to do next. He wants to shake her shoulder gently to wake her up and ask what's going on but – well – that's a lot of skin. An awful lot of soft milky chest and shoulder on show beneath the delicate spaghetti straps.

He steels his courage, takes a deep breath. It's not as if he's never touched a woman's skin before. It's just that touching _Clarke's_ skin always gets him dreadfully hot under the collar. Steady, determined, he reaches out to clasp her shoulder.

"Clarke? Clarke, wake up."

She fidgets a little, groaning softly, stretching out her arms and displacing the blankets.

Bellamy swallows down a moan. He can see more of her, now, and that little red slip of fabric is frankly indecent. Coupled with the ribbon in her hair, it's almost like the clothing equivalent of _giftwrap_ , he thinks. Almost like she's here in his bed parcelled up as a Christmas gift.

No. Good god no. He cannot allow himself to think that.

He clenches his jaw, tries again. He maybe lets his hand linger on Clarke's mostly-bare shoulder a little longer than strictly necessary, this time.

"Clarke? What are you doing here, Princess?"

She blinks sleepily up at him. "S'my bed." She mumbles.

"No it's not, Clarke. It's my bed." He explains, because amidst this whole crazy situation, that is one thing he is absolutely certain of.

She looks suddenly less sleepy, now. Her eyes are wide and her mouth gapes wider as she sits up, hurried, flustered.

He swallows hard. Her sitting up isn't helping him stay calm, here. Her breasts are straining against that red negligee, bouncing a little at the speed with which she bolted upright. It's really not good for his sanity, but he's determined not to stare and make her uncomfortable.

"It can't be your bed. I – I went to my tent. I fell asleep in _my bed_." She insists, looking about her in a panic. "Oh no. No. This is _your_ tent."

"This is my tent." He confirms heavily.

There's a beat of silence. Clarke's eyes are still darting round the tent, but somehow she looks more flustered than upset. Bellamy's not sure what to say – should he apologise? He's not sure what he'd be apologising for, only that he's sorry Clarke looks so uncomfortable.

"How did I end up here?" Clarke asks quietly, more curious than distressed, he thinks.

"No idea." He swallows. "Why – why are you dressed like that?"

She looks down at herself, as if only just noticing her outfit. "Your sister made me this for Christmas. I put it on before I went to sleep in _my_ bed earlier. I just – I wanted to wear something nice for a change." She admits, looking almost ashamed of herself.

"I get that." He rushes to assure her. "We don't live a life of luxury round here, do we? It looks really nice." He gets out, tense, hoping that sounded more useful and appropriate than _you look stunning_ or _I want to rip it off you with my teeth_.

Oh. Wow. He's never had ripping fabric with his teeth fantasies before now.

"You've got a bow in your hair as well." He informs her carefully, if only to stop himself from saying anything more about the little red chemise.

"A bow? Like a _gift_ bow?" She asks, frowning.

He swallows. He nods, wordless. Speaking sounds a bit challenging, just now.

"Why the hell am I in your tent with a gift bow in my hair?" She asks, annoyed by the sound of it, reaching up to the crown of her head to tug at the offending item.

He stills her with a hand on her arm. He seems to remember he wasn't planning to touch her too much, but he doesn't want to see her angrily pulling at her own hair like that.

"Hey. Let me. I know this is strange and you've got some questions but you don't need to go pulling your hair." He frowns, reaches out for the ribbon. "And anyway, I think it looks cute."

She freezes. She goes absolutely still. And all at once he regrets everything, regrets patronising her or angering her or making her uncomfortable – whichever it is that he's done – or possibly all three. He should have known she wouldn't -

"You think it looks cute?" She asks, eyes wide, lashes trembling.

He gulps. He's never seen her look like that before – sort of innocent and vulnerable yet also utterly seductive. He nods, mouth dry, and waits for her to tell him he's going to hell.

She does no such thing. She simply frowns, more confused than troubled, and asks a most unexpected question.

" _Really_?"

He snorts, goes ahead and unties the ribbon from her hair. Something about her curiosity and brisk tone has him feeling rather more comfortable, now. This is more like the Clarke he knows and loves.

"Really." He confirms, words coming easier to him. "Not just the bow." He pauses, momentarily distracted by the texture of her soft hair against his fingertips. "The whole look is pretty sweet." He says, gesturing at her little chemise, trying to point more at her body as a whole than her breasts in particular.

It's a lost cause. They're pretty magnificent, and it seems a shame to deny it.

"Sweet?" She huffs, indignant. Or maybe only _trying_ to sound indignant, he wonders.

He gathers his courage. He can do this. If she objected so very much to him seeing her in what is essentially lingerie, or to him saying she was cute, she'd have left by now. He knows Clarke that well at least.

He clears his throat, tries to tell her how he really feels.

"Yeah. Sweet. I don't mean that in a patronising way. I mean cute as in you're an attractive woman in sexy-but-sweet clothes."

He gets the words out. He sits there, playing with the ribbon between his fingers, his hand hovering half way between himself and Clarke.

And he waits for her to pass her judgement.

He's not sure what he's expecting. At best, perhaps a spot of kissing, if she feels the same way. More realistically, he's prepared for a kind but firm rejection.

Whatever he's expecting, it is certainly not this.

"D'you think that ribbon's long enough to tie my hands together?" She asks, tone perfectly level and utterly conversational.

He gulps, jaw tense. "Tie your hands together?" His voice comes out too low, almost scratchy.

"Yeah. I mean – just – if you want to." She concludes, a little more flustered, now. "I get it if you're not into that. Or if you think sex would make things weird between us or whatever, or -"

"Clarke. Stop. I'm into it." He gets out, fist clenched around the ribbon as he fights to maintain control of both his composure and the conversation.

It's a lost cause. Clarke has always had a special talent for disrupting his thoughts and his heartbeat.

"You are?" She sounds excited already, and it shoots straight to his cock.

"Yeah. Just – you sure you don't want to try something simpler, the first time?" He asks, neatly glossing over the idea that this might be the first time they have sex, and he might be implying there will be a second and a third and beyond.

"No." She answers, immediate and certain. "I trust you. I'm in if you're in."

He's in. He's _so_ in. He's never been more _in_ in his entire life before, he's pretty certain.

"OK. Tell me if you want out. Tell me to stop any time." He reminds her, the thrill of knowing this is about to happen warring with his desperate desire to keep her safe.

She nods, holds her hands out to him. He swallows hard, starts looping the ribbon around her wrists.

It feels so odd to be jumping straight into this. He's known Clarke a long couple of months, of course, and considered her his closest friend since at least November. But they've never so much as kissed before and now suddenly he's tying her up in his tent? It's crazy, but in the best possible way.

Or maybe it's not so crazy, he wonders. They've always done things out of order – leading together before they really knew each other, getting to know each other whilst fighting to survive. So what if they've jumped in at the deep end, here? He knows that they'll both keep their heads above water, as long as they take care of each other.

He doesn't really have anything to tie her hands to, so he simply ties them together, out in front of her.

"This OK?" He asks, when he's got the ribbon looped around her wrists as tight as he dares.

"Tighter." She demands, eyes bright and determined and challenging and everything _Clarke._

"You sure?"

"Yeah." She swallows loudly. "I need you to show me you won't be disobeyed."

His breath catches in his throat, heart thumping at that little reminder of something he said so long ago, under such different circumstances. She was listening to him even then? She was looking for this from him, right from the start?

That thought bolsters his confidence and has him entering into this game she wants to play rather more wholeheartedly. If she's been into him all that time, he figures this cannot possibly go so very wrong. And if she wants him to act a bit of the arrogant ass he was trying to be when they first landed, he can do that.

"You going to be good for me?" He asks her, throaty but firm.

She nods, eager, biting her lip.

He rewards her for that with a kiss, brief but filthily deep, all teeth and tongues and urgency. He's been wanting this too long to hang around and be polite, now.

He pulls away from the kiss after a few seconds, cock straining in his pants. Clarke tries to follow his lips as he goes, but he stops her with a firm hand on her shoulder.

"You said you were going to be good." He reminds her.

She whines, a needy little noise. He swallows hard. He didn't realise she was even capable of making such sounds.

"No more kisses until I say so." He reprimands her, that heavy hand still holding her down on the bed.

She nods, pouting, eyes utterly trusting. It's a lot. He never knew she could look like that – so vulnerable and obedient and soft yet still truly Clarke.

It's a lot, but he wants even more.

He nestles between her legs, close enough to tease her with his breath. He's been dreaming of eating Clarke out for months – quite literally seeing it in his sleep – so he's keen to get on with it, now.

"You going to lie still and let me take care of you?" He asks, trying to keep in character, but genuinely needing to know if this is OK with her.

"Mhmm." She hums in agreement, straining forward to reach for him with her bound hands.

For a moment, he allows himself to wonder what she's reaching for. His face? His hands? To run a tender finger across his lips? Those are questions that will wait for another day, he decides. For now, they are playing a different game.

"No touching." He warns her, grasping her bound wrists in one hand and pushing them firmly but carefully back towards her.

She pouts, lower lip jutting out. Damn it, but she really is playing her part well, here. He kind of wonders if maybe she's been planning this in the back of her mind every bit as long as he has.

He stops thinking about such things – there's something far more interesting to be getting on with. He ducks his head and gets to work, first teasing gently with his tongue, then giving her a little more pressure. It's not long before he's slipping a finger inside of her, too, then a second, finding her eager and more than ready for him.

Within minutes, her legs are shaking around his ears and she's on the point of fluttering around his fingers.

So he pulls back. Sudden, deliberate, he eases his mouth away from her, leaves his fingers totally still inside her.

"Bellamy. Please." She begs, and he knows full well what she's begging for.

"No, Princess. Not yet. You don't come until I say you can come, you got that?" He swallows, lets his voice drop a little lower. "I won't be disobeyed."

She nods, even as she writhes against his hand.

He pulls his fingers away altogether, and she chases his hand with her hips. He chuckles a little to himself – he should have realised Clarke would be totally incapable of surrendering control altogether, even when she demanded he tie her up like this. He helps her out, lays a heavy arm over her stomach to keep her still. She won't be able to fidget when he's holding her down.

Once he's satisfied that she's had a couple of moments to cool down, he gets to work once more, coaxing her closer to orgasm all over again. And this time, too, he takes her right to the edge before backing off. Once again, he pulls back, just as she's starting to tremble, on the verge of falling apart.

She doesn't try to follow him, this time. She lies there, still and obedient beneath his firm hold, looking down at him with false innocence in her eyes.

He smiles to himself. He never realised how fun this would be. He always knew it would be hot, sure, if ever he got the chance to take Clarke to bed. But he never imagined that it would be such pure good fun to play these games, too. Of course, his cock is currently trying to convince him that he'd have more fun if he just gave up and screwed her senseless. It's getting pretty uncomfortable, straining against his pants. But he knows it'll be worth the wait if only he draws this out a little longer.

Clarke still hasn't moved, is still looking at him with those big eyes. So it is that he strokes a thumb gently over her hip and makes a great show of considering the situation.

"That's better, Princess. You're being good for me now, aren't you?"

She nods, eager, eyes pleading.

"You can come this time. I want you to come for me."

Another eager nod. "Yes, Bellamy. Thank you, Bellamy."

He smiles warmly at her, brushes a hand gently down her hip and the length of her thigh. She shivers slightly – he's not quite sure whether that's ticklishness or pleasure, and he very much hopes to spend the next few months or years or lifetimes figuring it out.

And then he decides he's teased her long enough, and it's time to give her what she wants.

He isn't surprised when she comes quickly. He's been holding her close to the edge for a long time. And he's not surprised, either, that it's a big one, that she practically crushes his fingers as she clenches around him.

He's a little surprised when she thanks him sweetly the moment she's done. He supposes that shouldn't be a shock, based on the way tonight has played out so far, but he's still getting to know this Clarke – the Clarke who wants him to take charge of her as well as take care of her.

"You're welcome, baby." The endearment just slips out, but he doesn't bother feeling self-conscious about it. That seems like a perfectly reasonable thing to call her, in this moment.

He scoots up the bed, clasps a hand around her bound wrists. He's gentle as he pulls her hands up over her head, but insistent. He needs to show her he's still in charge.

"You want a taste?" He offers, slick fingers outstretched.

She nods, eager. It's odd this, how quiet she's been tonight. Well – quiet apart from those needy little moans.

He doesn't make her ask twice. Right away he's there, his fingers in her mouth, feeling her soft lips close around his knuckles. She takes him down her throat, as if dealing with his cock not his hand, and the pleasure of it shoots straight through him.

He gasps, tries to keep a hold of his self control. These are only fingers. He's never got so turned on by having his fingers sucked before now. But there's something about the way Clarke is doing this, somehow simultaneously both shy and confident, that is doing dangerous things to his insides.

The most dangerous thing of all? Imagining what it would feel like to have her treating his cock like this, one day. Imagining tying her up and thrusting into her mouth while she -

He stills, startled, slides his fingers from her mouth. She's gasping and coughing lightly. Evidently he took it too far there, got overexcited and made her gag badly on his hand.

Crap.

Of course, it's sexy in a way, especially when he imagines her gagging on his cock. But he's furious with himself for making her uncomfortable. He fishes for the tattered strands of his self-control, tries to keep the mood as he sets about putting it right.

"You're OK, baby." He coos, stroking his hand across her cheek and catching the couple of tears that have sprung up in her eyes as she gagged.

"I'm fine. That was hot. We can try again." She suggests.

No. He's not having that. He's not having her make the decisions, tonight, and nor is he about to let himself do that again when he's just made her choke on his fingers.

It's time for something else, he decides. It's time to kiss her softly, show her he's here to take care of her, not hurt her. It's time to rest a hand on her shoulder, gentle and reassuring yet there to hold her down, too. And he's still got his other hand in place on her tied hands over her head, stroking the soft skin on the inside of her wrists even as he keeps her firmly in place.

He pulls away from the kiss, just for a second. Just to look her in the eyes and try to get a read on how she's doing, whether this is anywhere near as incredible for her as it is for him.

"Bellamy?"

"Yes, Princess?"

"Please will you fuck me now?" She asks, sweet yet cheeky.

He grins. It's incredible, this – how she's so thoroughly herself, even as she's putting on a new personality while they play around in the bedroom. She's still confident, even when she's letting out her vulnerable side. She still makes him smile, even when she's wearing that needy pout.

He admits defeat. He lets go of her for just long enough to strip quickly, his shirt hitting the side of the tent as he rushes to throw it off, his trousers getting caught around his ankles in his hurry. There doesn't seem a lot of point being self-conscious about the minor inconvenience, though. This is two good friends learning how to hook up with each other – he doesn't need to worry if there are a couple of awkward hiccups along the way, he's pretty sure.

Once naked, he pauses. He looks down at her chemise, bunched up slightly around her breasts, and rakes his eyes over her body.

Huh. He really does fancy tearing that little red number off her with his teeth.

To hell with it. That's what he decides. He's spent his whole life denying himself nice things, putting everyone else before himself. Just for once, he wants to give himself a lovely Christmas gift. He knows that it's silly and wasteful – this little negligee must have taken lots of time and fabric – but he figures he's decent with a needle and can always patch it up later.

That decided, he kneels over Clarke, one knee either side of her hips.

"Bellamy?" She asks, eyes pleading.

"I've got you." He promises, meeting her gaze.

She nods, once, utterly trusting. He reaches out to hold her hands stretched over her head again, smiles what he hopes is a reassuring smile. He ducks his head, sucks a small bruise into the exposed skin just above her left breast.

And then he takes her neckline in his teeth, and tugs hard.

It rips easier than he expected, needing only a little help from his free hand along the way. And it's such a beautiful experience, unwrapping his perfect gift like this, exposing Clarke's perky breasts and soft skin and the defined curve of her waist.

"Gorgeous." He mutters, staring hard at her nipples. He figures that's allowed, now they seem to be sleeping together and all.

"Did you just -?"

"Yeah. I did." He grins at her. "I like this view better."

He doesn't waste any more time. He and Clarke have already wasted months, the way he sees it. So he positions himself between her hips, holds her hands outstretched above her head once more as he eases inside of her.

He kisses away her gasp, soft and gentle. He stays still for a moment, gives her a chance to adjust to the fullness.

"You going to sit there all day?" She prompts lightly.

He grins, tries to give her another kiss but ruins it all with a broad smirk. "What happened to being good for me?" He teases, beginning to move slowly.

She snorts out a laugh, reaches up to kiss him. He lets her, even though he seems to remember she's supposed to stay still and let him call the shots. It's not such a very big act of disobedience, and he really does like kissing her.

"Please?" She asks. Just that. Just one little syllable, whispered right into his ear.

He gives her what she wants, of course. He's becoming increasingly convinced that he always will give her what she wants, when push comes to shove. So it is that he moves his hips harder, faster, kisses her more deeply, presses her hands a little harder into the floor above his makeshift mattress.

He's not going to last long, here. The build up has been too good, the teasing too delicious. He's been about ready to come in his pants like a lovesick fool since the moment Clarke asked him to tie her up, pretty much. So it is that he's getting close, now, breath growing ragged, control growing tight.

He still needs to take care of Clarke, though. He still needs to show her she was right to trust him, right to hand him control.

"You're OK, baby. I've got you." He whispers, hoarse.

"Please can I come?" She asks sweetly – or rather, he gets the sense she's _trying_ to ask it in that pouting tone, but her breathing is getting away from her.

"You can come." He agrees easily. "I want you to come for me, Clarke. I want you to come on my cock."

She gasps, heaving in a ragged breath. Huh. Apparently she likes it when he talks dirty like that. Maybe he should try it again.

"Want to feel you come, baby."

She falls apart, then. She comes hard, hips bucking up off the mattress to meet him, hands straining against his grip. He holds her firm, his world narrowing to the feel of Clarke's bare skin against his chest, her hands twisting under his fingers, her warmth around his cock.

And then he's coming, spilling inside of her with a groan, his hand going limp around her wrists as he collapses on top of her.

Neither of them talks for a long handful of seconds. Bellamy's not holding Clarke's hands in place any more – he's just holding _her_ , her breasts and waist and shoulders, holding tight to as much of her as he can reach. He'll reclaim his dignity in a moment, he promises himself. He'll make a great display of untying her and ending their game, just as soon as he's got his feet back on the ground.

She beats him to it, of course. She always did enjoy taking the wind out of his sails.

"So that was fun." She says, easy, confident.

"Yeah. Definitely." He swallows, gathers his courage. "You want to try it again some time?"

"Sure. But next time you're choking me."

That has him choking in turn, coughing on thin air. He's stunned, even though he knows he shouldn't be. Given what they've just done, that's probably not such a surprising request. But in his defence, he was expecting a nice soft post-coital cuddle, here. He wasn't expecting them to plan their next sexual adventure.

He decides to fight back. He seems to remember that the best conversations between him and Clarke are those where they argue for the sheer joy of it.

"No way. Next time you're sitting on my face and telling me _you_ make the rules. And then maybe you're going to kneel for me and suck me off. But sure, after that we can try some choking."

She sits up fast, dislodges him from the hug. He's a bit annoyed about that, really. He was enjoying holding her.

He's annoyed, and also a little impressed. She's stronger than she looks, is his Clarke.

"Sorry – _I_ make the rules? Me sitting on your face? You're – you're into that?"

"I'm into that." He shrugs. "Pretty sure I'm into most things with you. But you taking charge sounds hot too so we should try it some time. We can take it in turns." He suggests easily.

She nods, brisk, resolute. It's funny, because she still looks every inch the vulnerable but perky woman he just made love with – it's more that she chooses to give free reign to different parts of her personality, depending on the mood of the moment. He supposes he's always admired that about her, now he comes to think about it. The way she can be a caring doctor or a decisive leader depending on what the day requires of her.

Silence falls. Clarke lies back down, and Bellamy makes a slow start on untying her wrists. She looks so good with that bow looped around her hands that he genuinely wonders about leaving her that way all night, for a moment. But he supposes that might not be very comfortable, and it sounds like they will have other opportunities to try it again some time.

Right on cue, Clarke breaks the silence.

"It sounds like you're planning on us having a lot of sex. Face sitting, blow job, choking." She comments lightly.

"Yeah. Does that sound OK to you?" He asks. He's not even sure why he's bothering to ask – he knows her well enough that he's certain by now she's as into the idea as he is.

"Perfect." She agrees easily.

Her wrists are untied, now. Silence falls again. He tugs lightly at the remains of her chemise – not to try to put it back in place, because that would be a lost cause. But to pull it out of the way completely, slip the spaghetti straps down her arms so she's lying naked in his bed.

"You want to stay here tonight?" He offers.

She nods. "Yeah. If that's OK. I – I really do like the feeling of you taking care of me. Forgetting about the world for a minute and just feeling safe."

"I figured." He says, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "Good thing I like doing that for you, huh?"

"I do want to do that for you too. Not just sitting on your face – properly taking care of you." She insists.

He smiles softly. This is what he appreciates the most about Clarke – the way she's so firm about being gentle. The way she insists on taking care of people, whether they think they need it or not.

"Go to sleep, Clarke." He murmurs, snuggling down into the bed next to her, wrapping an arm around her bare waist.

"You don't want to figure out how I ended up here?" She asks.

He snorts. He's very fond of this woman, but he's a little exasperated that she wants to solve this particular mystery in the middle of the night late on Christmas Day. "Tomorrow, Clarke."

"But -"

"Tomorrow." He repeats firmly. He won't be disobeyed on this one, either. "We both know my sister must have had something to do with it – I'll go ask her in the morning."

"I thought that nightdress was a bit much." Clarke muses. "But it's cute so I wore it."

"I bet it was some scheme of hers. She's seen the way I look at you and decided to wrap you up nicely and leave you here as a gift. She must have had help – Miller or Jasper?"

"Maybe both." Clarke suggests around a yawn.

They never do figure out the answer, that night. They never do tie up all the loose ends and unravel the mystery. But it just doesn't seem to matter, now they've figured out what matters most.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
